


a crow and his trinkets

by FaultyParagon



Series: Canon-Compliant/Canon-Rooted RWBY Fics [20]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Camaraderie, Clover Ebi-centric, Clover Just Wants To Be Loved, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Clover Ebi, Gen, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Piercings, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Uncle Clover Ebi, Volume 7 (RWBY), fair game, qrow is just a birb, same honestly, uncle Qrow - Freeform, who likes shiny things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon
Summary: “We can’t do this.” Clover turns away, cursing the Brothers up above for implanting these feelings into his chest, for making him so goddamn warm every time Qrow enters his sight.Qrow just stares back, crestfallen expression hardening in the blink of an eye. It’s a practiced transition, Clover realizes. That realization makes it worse.He wants to beg Qrow to stay as he leaves, but he can’t put it into words. Shame and humiliation and anger and betrayal ring too loudly in his ears to find the right words to say that hecan’t be the other man.-aka Qrow likes jewelry and Clover thinks Qrow and Tai are together. V7 Fair Game.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Ruby Rose, Qrow Branwen & Ruby Rose & Taiyang Xiao Long & Yang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen & Taiyang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen & Yang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Canon-Compliant/Canon-Rooted RWBY Fics [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815229
Comments: 68
Kudos: 262





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here's! another! one! because! I am! queen! of procrastinating!  
> (is it bad that i almost called this fic 'if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it')  
> (i'm so tired y'all what even is happening anymore)
> 
> Let me know if you like it!

Clover is almost grateful that Qrow doesn’t like getting dressed up very much. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle it.

He cannot deny that Qrow looks uncomfortably good in any and all light. He had reviewed old footage of the Huntsman’s fighting style the first night the group had crash-landed on Mantle, trying to ensure that he found fitting roles for everyone in Atlas’ mission roster. Every single video he had ever found of Qrow Branwen made him feel lightheaded and giddy, the man’s scythe and blade just as smooth and deadly as his wit and charm. He hated just how fluidly Qrow moved, how easily he adapted to any situation, how gracefully he was able to skirt the line between death and disaster, and pure, untarnished victory.

Clover still hates how much heat had pooled in his gut when he saw Qrow’s intense smile in the midst of battle.

The Qrow he knows today, however, is a different beast altogether. His fighting prowess is just as incredible, if not more, than Clover had seen in their old footage; but it’s not combat that throws Clover so off-kilter.

He’s clumsy, Clover realizes dimly as he watches Qrow interact with his nieces, the other kids, with James. He’s clumsy and awkward, all fumbling words and embarrassed smiles. He teases Yang and pinches Ruby’s nose, and when he speaks to James he’s patient as he listens, intent on being the best ally possible. Every once in a while, he reaches into his vest pocket and flushes, retracting his fingers and glancing around guiltily, a child whose hand is caught in an empty cookie jar.

All of those things, those little actions and tottering words, are painfully endearing to Clover. It takes everything he has to not blush just seeing the older man half the time.

Perhaps that is why Clover fixates on his jewelry, on his accessories. He doesn’t have to see that lascivious smile when he focuses on metal, leather, obsidian.

When he first brings up Qrow’s eclectic taste in jewelry, they’re on a supply run together. Elm and Nora are seated in the front seat, the two rowdy women hooting and hollering so loudly that it is a wonder they’re not attracting Grimm for miles. Clover doesn’t mind the noise; unlike when Penny and Ruby, or Vine and Ren are there, Elm and Nora provide the perfect background noise to have conversations with Qrow unnoticed.

“I know I’m going to win,” he murmurs, drawing another card from the deck.

Qrow raises a brow, the spitting image of unamused taciturnity. “Oh really, now?” Qrow discards another card and draws as well, gesturing for Clover to continue.

The moment it is Clover’s turn once more, Qrow’s hand goes back to fiddling with his necklace, the angled cross turning over and over again between his fingers. Clover finds his eyes locked on the motion, absently imagining what that touch would be like on his own skin.

With a smile, he replies, “You need to work on your tells, you know. You fiddle with your necklace when you have a bad hand.”

Instantly, Qrow’s eyes widen, his façade of calm dropping away as he glances down in shock. “God-fucking-dammit,” he groans, tossing his cards onto the box which has become their makeshift table.

Clover tries to stifle his laughter as he sees the garbage hand Qrow has tossed away so bitterly. “Yeah. Good choice.” He reveals his own hand, the straight flush just salt on Qrow’s unlucky wounds.

Thin lips twist into a pout that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is to Clover, but green eyes affix to the sight anyways. “Fine,” Qrow growls, sighing and letting go of the necklace. “Whatever. Deal again.”

Clover is already moving to shuffle the cards, long having become accustomed to this back-and-forth they play; it’s mindless and easy to rest suspended in the middling tension that Clover knows is there, that Clover knows Qrow recognizes, too.

“Where did you get it?” he asks as cards riffle through his fingers with ease.

“A gift,” Qrow replies.

Clover pushes a new hand to Qrow, winking as their fingers touch when Qrow reaches out to grab it. “Maybe sit on your other hand when you’re not playing.”

The growl at the back of Qrow’s throat makes Clover want to melt. He laughs instead and allows Qrow to play first. He already knows he’s going to win, though; the moment Qrow draws his first card, his hand automatically rushes back to his necklace before dropping to his lap almost frantically. He’s too hyperaware, and nothing is sweeter.

Clover later finds out from Ruby while at dinner in the mess hall that the necklace had been a gift from Ruby and Yang’s father to Qrow, and so Qrow wears it religiously. Clover smiles at the pun. A cross has historically been used to represent holiness in some parts of Atlas, after all. He doesn’t know if the girls know that, though.

To his surprise, Yang does; or at least, she knows the vague connotations of the symbol. That knowledge isn’t as eloquently shared as that, however, as she cackles, “Yeah, Dad said he needed some more holiness, the rowdy _heathen-_ “

And Clover laughs, voice ringing through the mess hall happily as Qrow smacks the blonde’s hair lightly with his tray before settling in across from Clover. “You watch it, punk,” he says, words laced with a flustered attempt at venom.

Yang sticks her tongue out at him. “It’s okay, Qrow. We love you anyways, heathen and all.”

Clover watches as Ruby leans onto Qrow’s arm and asks him sweetly about his mission that day, the two swapping stories as leisurely as ever. It’s such a domestic, comfortable exchange that Clover relaxes, his eyes falling onto that cross shining against Qrow’s pale skin. It’s an odd gift to wear constantly as a joke from one’s friend, but Clover thinks it suits Qrow; both the figure he saw in the archived footage, and the man seated in front of him, scolding his niece to eat her broccoli. The silver matches the glint in Qrow’s red eyes, after all.

When Qrow looks up at him, all inquisitive openness, Clover flushes and looks away, wishing he had his own necklace to fiddle with. He doesn’t, so he reaches for the clover brooch pinned over his heart, fingers running over grooves he has long-since memorized.

He understands where Qrow is coming from. The action is soothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more days till I get my first vacation in a year! So stoked.
> 
> Leave a comment if you're reading along :D

The earring is tiny, innocuous. It is hidden underneath locks of dark hair, perfectly positioned over the tips of Qrow’s ear. If Clover hadn’t spent so much time looking at Qrow’s silhouette, he probably would have missed it. As it is, Clover’s eyes cannot help but focus on the tiny glint of dark metal amidst grey-streaked strands every single time Qrow looks away.

“Take a photo. It’ll last you longer.”

Clover almost jumps when he realizes Qrow’s eyes are half-lidded, peering at him out of the corner of his eyes, an amused smile quirking his lips. He recovers quickly, but still curses his inability to stay cool with Qrow around.

Qrow, thankfully, is all bark and no bite, simply teasing. He turns to face Clover properly, and his hair falls over his ear again, obscuring the earring completely. “Seriously though, what is it?”

Clover checks his Scroll; there’s a message from his team. “Vine spotted a line of Sabyrs charging. You ready?”

Qrow grins, and as the Grimm roll into view, it’s all pointed canines and smooth, easy confidence. “Of course.”

Clover extends Kingfisher. “Let’s see how you do.”

“Watch how the pros do it, kid,” he scoffs in return.

Clover smiles, and they strike.

When the battle has come to an end, an endless see of dark, rancid mist rising in the sky and drifting away on the wind from the scene of the crime, Clover holsters Kingfisher and walks to Qrow. He notices with a distinct pang in his gut that while he himself had done a good job, with dissipating bodies of the Grimm littering the tundra everywhere he looked, he cannot compete with Qrow. The elder is barely visible amidst the black haze; he has massacred so many of the demons that the sky is choked out around him.

Suddenly, a glistening, curved blade cuts through that haze, blowing it away and clearing the air. Qrow stands in the center of it all, unscathed, unfazed. He sheathes Harbinger as Clover approaches, whistling softly in appreciation. “You really did a good job today, Qrow,” he says.

Qrow grins back, rolling his shoulder and gesturing to the meeting point for the Ace-Ops. “You too.” He brushes his hair back, tucking strands behind his ear.

As they begin to walk, Clover’s eyes fall onto the earring again. “What’s the story behind that?” he asks before he can stop himself.

Qrow is confused for a moment, vaguely looking himself up and down.

Clover realizes his mistake and tries to convince himself that it’s not heat he feels in his cheeks- he’s just flushed from the fight, he tells himself. “The piercing.” He points at his own ear, holding the helix. “It’s discrete. Any reason you got it?”

Something on Qrow’s face flashes- a myriad of emotion that he doesn’t know how to really express, nor does Clover know how to name. After struggling to find the words, Qrow finally murmurs, “It was just a bet.”

“Who lost?”

A simple glower from Qrow is enough response.

“Bad luck, eh?” Clover chuckles, waving at Elm, Vine and Marrow. Harriet is already in the transport vessel. “I mean, you could’ve taken it out,” Clover says pragmatically. “I’m assuming it’s an old piercing.”

But Qrow’s glower falls away, leaving behind nothing but a gentle, weary smile. “Yeah. I suppose.” He pauses, his grin regaining its coy tint. “What, you don’t think it suits me?”

Clover finds that he has to physically stop himself from responding vehemently, because no, of _course_ it suits Qrow. Anything and everything could suit Qrow. It’s almost concerning just how easily the man is able to steal the attention and desire of everyone in the room just by _existing._

As they step on board the airship, he manages to mumble, “It looks good.” The moment the words leave his mouth, he realizes he has taken too long to reply- Elm is looking at him in confusion, Vine raises a brow, and Marrow glances up from polishing his weapon in the corner. Qrow pouts in confusion and Clover wants to groan, but then the elder understands his words; his face alights and he laughs. It’s a quiet sound- dry, wry and deep- but it goes straight to Clover’s core, and he feels his face heat up. Hurriedly, Clover sits down on a bench and pulls out Kingfisher, happy to distract himself and polish the edge.

It is in the briefing room a few days later that Clover notices a small hoop in Qrow’s ear where the dark stud had been. He almost doesn’t want to comment; the way Qrow had looked so forlorn and wistful as he discussed the supposed bet made Clover feel like the obsidian earring had been a staple.

Still, his curiosity gets the better of him. Surprisingly, Qrow blushes when Clover points out the new hoop. “You noticed, huh?” the elder mutters, hurriedly covering the piercing with his hair.

Clover reaches up and grabs his hand, stopping his movement. Qrow is shocked, but doesn’t pull away; so, Clover carefully pushes back Qrow’s hair to properly look at it. It’s a simple silver ring- nothing fancy, just thick metal, polished to a shine.

“The girls gave it to me,” Qrow explains. Clover realizes belatedly that the man is embarrassed of his happiness; Qrow is all blushing cheeks and fond smiles, stammering as he looks at his nieces’ names on the mission roster. “They said they used their first paycheque to get it.”

And Clover smiles too, because the pride in Qrow’s face cannot be understated, and the sheer gratitude he exudes from every pore warms the younger from head to toe. “That’s sweet of them,” he replies gently. “What about the old one? And the bet?”

Qrow grins, perking up. “Tai won’t be mad I took it out,” he laughs, “not when it’s replaced by something from the kiddos. It was way too old, anyway.” He pouts. “He’ll probably demand a matching one, too.”

“Ah, from your teammate,” Clover murmurs.

Something about that knowledge sticks in his brain, but he ignores it, instead opening up their mission to double-check the drop point for the day.

Before they head out, he adds, “It suits you. Really.”

Qrow looks surprised, but doesn’t say a word; however, for the rest of the day, he makes no move to hide the piercing underneath his dark hair, the shiny ring catching the light wherever he goes.


	3. Chapter 3

Qrow is bad with hot food.

It is a strange thing to notice, but Clover sees him taking his sweet time eating at the mess hall each evening, waiting for his food to cool far longer than is necessary. On overnight field hunts and missions, Qrow is the first to remove his rations from the tiny campfires they build to heat up the MREs. Even when he makes cocoa for his nieces during their weekly video game tournaments, his own cup sits unattended for an unnaturally long time. Spicy food isn’t even an option.

Clover brings it up more out of the desire to be helpful than anything as he sets about preparing two cups of tea. They had been in the Ace Ops’ office for three hours, and the sun has long since set, but they continue to work. Combing over paperwork is technically something Clover is allowed to delegate, but the surveillance footage and combat data is something that Clover prefers to go over himself.

It was just a lucky little bonus that Qrow decided to tag along earlier.

But the room is now cold and Qrow is yawning, so Clover wanders over to the kettle and their meager stash of teas. Vine doesn’t mind anyone else enjoying a cup as long as they put things back in order, after all. So, as the water boils, he asks, “You don’t like it too hot, right?”

Qrow snorts as he sifts through yet another surveillance video from Mantle’s northeastern wall. “Where did that come from?”

“Am I right?”

The elder hums, the faint clicking of keys echoing in the quiet room alongside the slow bubbling of the kettle.

Clover takes his silence as agreement and ensures that he pours out Qrow’s cup before the water is boiling completely, giving it time to cool while the water continues to boil so Clover can make his own. Then, bringing it over to the elder, he smiles, saying, “It’s not that warm.”

“That’s rude, isn’t it?”

Clover rolls his eyes and sighs, feigning annoyance. He knows he’s nailed it on the head; as Qrow speaks, his fingers are fidgeting with his necklace yet again. When Clover points at the elder’s fidgeting fingers, Qrow glances down, groans, then takes his drink. Qrow’s grin is crooked and toothy, a glimmer of affection darting through crimson eyes so quickly Clover feels like it could’ve been just his imagination. However, that amused warmth lingers in his tone as he blows on the liquid anyways, cooling it further. “You’re learning, boy scout.”

The nickname makes Clover weak in the knees, but he knows how to maintain his pleasant expression; too much time with Qrow has taught him exactly how to remain calm, remain cool, remain neutral. He simply takes a seat and sips his own tea, relaxing into his chair a little bit. “Let’s look over the last few files and call it a night. How’s that?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

So after their tea is finished and the files are all sorted, Clover and Qrow step wearily into the hallway. “We don’t have a mission tomorrow,” Clover murmurs. “Go get some rest.” And Qrow smiles and waves and wanders off, leaving Clover behind to wonder why Qrow can’t handle heat.

The answer comes a few days later when he’s going through archives with James. Occasionally, the general will go through old photographs, videos, records- anything he can find to potentially reawaken Ozpin, whose consciousness is still apparently sleeping inside young Oscar Pine’s body. If he is being honest, Clover is skeptical about the whole affair, but he is happy to oblige his commander. There is a certain comfort in taking a few moments to dwell on simpler days.

But when he chances upon an old set of photographs from Vytal Festival Tournaments of years past, James immediately loses focus of their goal. He eagerly flips through pages, commenting happily as he looks at familiar faces. Clover leans in and points out everyone he recognizes, blushing when he finds himself in a few of the photographs and one particularly clumsy video, too. It’s a lighthearted pastime.

It is far too easy to forget (and to ignore) that most of the faces they see in these images are dead now.

James beckons him over when he finds one particular photograph. Clover obeys, examining the image.

Qrow is in the photo, surrounded by smiling youth. The picture has to be at least twenty years old, if not older. His hair is pitch black, stance cocky, eyes scrunched up as he sticks his tongue out for the photographer despite the majority of the other students grinning and posing. It is especially jarring to see just how much he contrasts with the bright-eyed blond man who has an arm slung around Qrow’s neck, looking far too innocent to be standing next to Qrow. There’s something familiar about the blond’s smile, though.

There’s a stud in the center of Qrow’s tongue. James doesn’t notice it, simply making an offhanded comment about a stern young woman standing in the corner of the photo- a teacher at Beacon whom James knows, apparently. It takes Clover a few moments to react to James’ words, too focused on Qrow’s image. And when James isn’t looking, he quietly saves the image onto his own Scroll.

When Clover brings it up at dinnertime that day, Qrow chokes on his food. As he coughs, Clover simply passes him some more water and glances around; Team RWBY is nowhere near them, having joined some Atlas Academy students for dinner. No one is else is around to bear witness to the story. He zooms in on the picture on his Scroll, grinning at how Qrow recoils reflexively. “Do you still have it?”

Qrow’s face flushes a deep red from the tips of his ears and down his neck and chest; Clover finds his eyes locked momentarily on the way his necklace and helix piercing contrast with blushing skin.

Finally, Qrow sticks his tongue out. There’s nothing there. “Of course it’s gone!” Qrow cries, burying his face in his hands. “ _Brothers_ , of all photos you could’ve seen you see one from _that_ Festival-“

“Did you not keep it for long?” Clover asks, genuinely curious.

Qrow sighs, all weary embarrassment as he pushes around cold broccoli on a saucy plate. “Of course not,” he mumbles. “I don’t even remember the night I got it done.” To Clover’s questioning look, Qrow explains, “We went out to Vale one night in my third year, we got drunk, I woke up the next day with a tongue piercing. I took it out the moment I could.”

“Why?” Clover asks. He cannot help but smile at the quiet agony Qrow is going through in front of him as he tries to banish memories he had clearly pushed away years ago. The elder’s fidgeting is adorable. “It suited you.”

The strangled noise that escapes Qrow’s lips sounds more pathetic than anything. Clover still finds it oddly endearing. “It hurt, okay? I have a sensitive tongue. The only reason I probably went through it is because I was too drunk to feel it.”

 _Ah, so that’s why you can’t handle heat._ “Was it another bet?”

Qrow pouts. “Maybe. Blame that asshole- he egged me to do it, I think.”

Clover looks down and sees Qrow’s finger pointing at the blond beside his younger self. “One of your teammates, I presume,” he says, looking at the young man in the photograph. He’s handsome, in an innocent, naïve way.

Qrow jabs a thumb in his nieces’ direction. “That’s Tai, their dad.”

 _That makes sense,_ Clover thinks, glancing between Taiyang’s face and Yang’s. Their smiles are identical.

But even though Qrow is clearly embarrassed, he later asks Clover to send him the photograph, and the joy in his eyes when Clover agrees makes the younger heat up in ways Qrow could never handle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing FG on my vacay, smh. It's still oddly soothing to write about these potatoes.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

It’s a leather armband; not a bracer, not a guard in any way. Just an accessory constantly seated upon Qrow’s wrist, rain or shine, no matter what outfit Qrow is wearing. It is his constant companion.

Clover finds himself fixating upon that bracelet. It’s an innocent look at first; just like with the other pieces of mismatched jewelry in Qrow’s collection, Clover assumes there’s a story behind it. And he’s curious, just as always.

The first time he truly takes notice of it, they are just sitting in the mess hall. Qrow is on one side, Ruby is on the other. To his surprise, James has joined them for the meal, alongside Winter and Penny. The latter is across from Ruby, speaking excitedly about anything and everything while Ruby struggles to cut into a slightly-overcooked pork chop to no avail. Winter is barely holding it together, sitting across from Qrow; James looks at her in confusion every time she growls and snarls at Qrow, but Clover understands. He spots Qrow quietly flicking peas at Winter, the innocence on his face almost enough to win Clover over if it weren’t for the fact that his peas are steadily disappearing and Clover hasn’t seen him take a single bite. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or feel embarrassed for the elder.

He can understand why Ruby and Yang act as naïve and innocent as they do. He doesn’t dislike it. There’s a certain sweetness to the fact that their odd little family is still so bright and silly despite all of the darkness in the world.

But when Winter gives up and stands, muttering to herself that she’ll take her dinner to her quarters, Qrow murmurs, “’Scuse me,” in the most satisfied voice and leans in front of Clover. Immediately, Clover obeys, moving back in his seat as Qrow’s lithe body slides in front of him, reaching out and plucking Ruby’s plate off her dinner tray. Clover’s eyes focus on the shifting of muscles in Qrow’s shoulder, visible even under his vest and sleeves; the veins in large, elegant hands, blue underneath such pale skin; the large black band adorning his wrist. It pops against Qrow’s gaunt colouring.

Clover’s eyes follow as Qrow quickly cuts Ruby’s food for her, chiding her for being, “such a kid” and “someone who can’t even cut their food; and you’re telling me you’re a Huntress?” then laughing at Ruby’s cries of dismay. Clover snorts before he can stop himself; who is Qrow to talk? But Qrow laughs on unaware, handing Ruby’s plate back once he is finished, crimson eyes flashing in gratitude as his torso leans over Clover’s lap yet again.

Clover gulps. With that level of proximity, he can feel Qrow’s heat emanating off his body. It’s such a stark contrast to the eternally-cool air of Atlesian halls.

If they were alone, Clover might pull him closer.

He doesn’t.

He prays Qrow doesn’t notice how his breathing stutters, how his heartrate skyrockets. He looks away from the elder’s face, eyes falling back onto that wristband. It is an inoffensive object upon which he can focus, after all. Naught but simple, plain black leather, slightly frayed along the edges.

As time goes on, however, that band stays in his mind. He flushes whenever he sees it, for his attention has shifted from its history to something else- to the way Qrow’s muscles flex, the lines leading to his wrist. To the way his fingers play along the edge of Harbinger’s blade, its handle, long handguard ending at black leather. Every time Clover watches Qrow- which, whether he will admit it or not, is fairly often, since the elder’s movements are so smooth and fluid on the battlefield that Clover cannot help but relish in it- his eyes always end up falling to that armband.

“Did your teammates get you that, too?” he asks at last, tapping his own wrist one day when his curiosity takes over.

Qrow blinks at him, then winces as the wind picks up, blowing icy air and strands of hair into Qrow’s eyes. He lifts a hand to block it, the offending leather slick with condensation amidst the cruel winter air. “What, this?” he asks once the wind dies down, sliding a finger underneath the band.

Clover nods before focusing his attention back onto lighting a fire. The storm shall blow over soon, and they will be able to get back to their patrol. However, as it is, there is no urgent Grimm attack needing to be dealt with, nor is there a reason to be suffering in the cold, so the nook on Mantle’s lower wall in which they have taken shelter will be their home until the biting winds cease their assault.

Qrow hums, handing Clover a charge of Dust to help kindle the fire before he leans back against cold steel, shivering. “I think so,” he replies, brow furrowed in thought. “Been wearing it for so long, it’s kinda hard to remember.” And then, without any prompting from Clover, Qrow undoes some hidden clasp, and band begins to fall open.

Clover pauses what he is doing. Swallowing thickly, it takes all he has to maintain his composure as black falls away, leaving two thin red indents against Qrow’s skin; underneath, there is nothing but a smooth expanse of pale, untouched skin. He wants to cry in shame thanks to the amount of heady want in his heart, in his skin. He barely feels the bite of the wind, he is so flushed. For a moment, he considers not lighting the fire at all, just to keep his embarrassment hidden in shadow. Looking at that exposed skin- so innocent, _why am I reacting like this, it’s literally nothing-_ makes him dizzy.

Qrow’s fond voice breaks him from his glazed stupor. “Yeah,” he says, eyes soft as he massages his wrist, then examines the band. “It’s a dumb story.”

“Oh yeah?” It is a victory to have his voice emerge from his throat powerfully, not the weak, trembling mess that he hides within himself.

“My sister and I grew up fairly isolated in Anima,” Qrow explains. “We never saw big city centers or shopping malls or anything. When we got to Beacon, Tai and Summer dragged us out into the town. They really wanted to buy us other clothes, since we came with basically only the clothes on our backs and our weapons.”

Clover whistles, impressed. “And they got you that?”

To his surprise, Qrow flushes lightly. “Full outfits. It was… excessive. Tai wanted to get matching ones, but Raven bullied him out of it- said it wouldn’t suit him.”

“Was she right?”

The affection in Qrow’s crimson eyes, glowing orange by the sparks of fire-Dust as Clover works to light their kindling, sends a painful pang through Clover’s gut. His eyes are painted in nostalgia, yes; there is also comfort there. Comfort and trust, and a complacency that only the most unbreakable of bonds could have.

Clover wonders of whom Qrow is thinking about.

“It was probably more in fashion back in the day,” he admits reluctantly. “But I like it. Good memories.”

And Clover smiles too despite himself, the fire finally alighting in front of him.

Qrow takes a seat beside Clover. Clover rolls his eyes, noticing how Clover has been conveniently left on the outside, ostensibly protecting Qrow from the wind. “What, I’m the windbreaker now?” he says lightly.

But Qrow winks and sidles even closer to him, and Clover’s breath catches in his throat as Qrow holds out his wrist and the band. “Gotta put you to work somehow, right?” Qrow teases, voice low and smooth.

Clover’s breath remains locked in his throat as he carefully picks up the band, finding tiny clasps and wrapping it back up around Qrow’s wrist. He allows his fingers to rest upon that smooth wrist, soaking in the feel, memorizing the colour of flesh untouched by the sun, for just a brief moment before the leather is back on- snug and fitted and frayed.

Qrow smiles. “Thanks.”

Clover smiles back. “You’re welcome.”

And Clover tries to ignore the fact that he is far too warm with Qrow next to him, despite the wind occasionally slipping into their hiding spot. He is far too warm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm drunk while writing this chapter. RIP if it's not to your liking. If you'd like to give me a prompt to write about, send me a PM, a message on Discord (fp#8010) or leave a comment. Who knows, I might write it!

Either Clover is losing his mind, or Qrow is actively _flirting with him._

It takes Clover quite a few days to recognize what is going on; in fact, it is Elm who first brings it up, all coy smiles and restrained laughter. "You're very… _close_ to Qrow these days, huh?" she snickers, glancing at the older Huntsman currently logging in a report in the Ace Ops' office. He shouldn't be there, yes, but Clover has no heart to kick him out. The elder might as well be a part of the team, with how often he works with Clover, after all.

Clover blinks at her. "Well, we're together often," he replies calmly, mildly confused by her glee. "Our Semblances cancel, so-"

She shakes her head. "No. You're _close."_ The weight she puts on her words makes Clover freeze in place, fingers halfway through typing up a word on his own holoscreen.

 _Is she… implying what I_ think _she's implying?_

He is too terrified to ask.

Instead, he stands, walking over to Qrow, his mind racing. He analyzes every encounter he has had with the elder for the past few days, desperately trying to catalogue to what exactly Elm could be referring. When he gives himself time to reflect, however, the answer becomes apparent.

Qrow sees his approach and has the audacity to lean his head against Clover's stomach, a small smile on his lips. "Done already, lucky charm?" he murmurs.

Clover burns at every point Qrow touches. Which is awful, considering that ever since that day when he helped Qrow put his bracelet back on, Qrow has been more… _touchy._

The elder finds little excuses all the time to come into contact with Clover. His fingers brush against Clover's while they both reach for the coffeepot before briefings. He is quicker to grasp Clover's shoulder when the younger is worried, squeezing reassuringly, words soothing and patient. He bumps his hip into the younger, grinning as if he doesn't have a care in the world before his pulls out his scythe, as terrifying and deadly and nonchalant against the Grimm as ever. He smiles and laughs at Clover's silly jokes, winks at him just as much as Clover winks at Qrow, and his gazes are heavy, meaningful.

Is Clover crazy to think that Qrow could want him? Maybe. It doesn't change the fact that Clover has to look at himself in the mirror one evening, hiding out in a public washroom during one of Ruby's video game tournaments, and tell himself that he needs to keep it cool because _Qrow wouldn't be flirting so openly,_ so Clover should calm down.

But when Clover finally exits the bathroom and sits back down onto the couch, Qrow leans on his shoulder in a heartbeat and snuggles against his collar. He chuckles, "You feeling okay, boy scout?" as he picks up his Scroll, all nonchalance and carefree energy as Ruby sets up a new round against Qrow in her fighting game.

The only thing Clover is fighting is his blush, the man praying that he can retain at least some modicum of control over his emotions before the next briefing. He doubts he is successful, as Qrow teases him for his pink ears and flustered commentary, the elder snuggling against his collarbone throughout his matches against his nieces. Clover wants to ask Ruby and Yang to see if Qrow is always like this; perhaps the elder is just a more physically affectionate person.

He doesn't ask, and every time Ruby or Yang looks at him, he avoids eye contact just in case they realize the same daunting truths as Clover.

Clover likes Qrow. A _lot._ He wants Qrow to look at him as a _man;_ not just as a partner, not just as a friend. He imagines what Qrow would look like in his bed, wanton and flushed in ecstasy. He wants Qrow to want him, too.

And then, a few days later while they patrol Mantle's wall together, Qrow takes Clover's hand in his, and Clover finally hones in on the rings adorning Qrow's fingers. There's multiple, but one in particular catches his attention. He shifts his grip, tapping his fingers against Qrow's ring finger on his left hand. The band is a simple, pure black, obsidian shining in the light. It matches Qrow's hair, and Clover wishes he could've been the one to give such a simple, meaningful piece to the elder. "What's this?"

Qrow grins, replying easily, "Oh, I've had it for years."

"What it something your whole team did?" The question is innocent at first, not truly worried. However, Clover feels his heart drop into his stomach as the words form before his mind can catch up. "So, who gave it to you; Tai?"

And to his abject horror, Qrow grins. "Of course it was Tai- we got rings when we graduated," Qrow explains. "The man doesn't know restraint if it slapped him upside-"

But something in Clover's mind flags the situation. He pauses, murmuring, "Why would you get rings for graduation?"

Qrow replies easily, "Oh, Tai's always been a sentimental bastard." But his eyes are soft, his heart laid bare for all to see. Anyone could tell that Qrow loved Tai, the father of the two girls Qrow loves as if they were his own. 'Tai' means the world to the elder Huntsman.

And the moment Clover realizes that, his palms grow clammy, heart stilling, smile fading away into nothing. What can he say?

He steps away. Qrow notices, walking closer before Clover holds out a hand, trying to hide the fact that he is shaking, his eyes wanting to fall upon Qrow's earring, his necklace, his bracelet, his _heart-_

But… the warmth in Qrow's eyes whenever he talks about Ruby and Yang's father can be called nothing less than pure love. How had Clover not seen it?

How had Clover had the _audacity_ to assume he had a chance?

So when Qrow reaches out to him again, brow furrowed and mouth agape, Clover pulls away. "We can't do this." Clover turns away, cursing the Brothers up above for implanting these feelings into his chest, for making him so goddamn _warm_ every time Qrow enters his sight.

Qrow just stares back, crestfallen expression hardening in the blink of an eye. It's a practiced transition, Clover realizes. That realization makes it worse.

He wants to beg Qrow to stay as he leaves, but he can't put it into words. Shame and humiliation and anger and betrayal ring too loudly in his ears to find the right words to say that he _can't be the other man._

He loves Qrow Branwen. He only wishes that Qrow Branwen loved him, too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at work and class, woooo :/

He has to go cold turkey. He has no choice. Clover would’ve never guessed that he could lose himself so quickly into _nothing,_ but the absence of Qrow by his side is a void into which he topples headfirst, no matter how hard he tries to stay afloat.

Qrow doesn’t speak to him. Crimson eyes are cold when they run over his body, lips set in a hard line. Clover tries to reach out to him, but he pulls himself back every time. It’s better this way, he tells himself.

After all, each time he finds himself longing to return to Qrow’s side, all Clover has to do is remind himself that Qrow was flirting with him openly when Taiyang is waiting for Qrow back home. Clover never had a chance, nor does he want one with the kind-looking blond in the photograph somewhere in Sanus longing for Qrow, too.

This understanding should make Clover hate Qrow. At least, Clover wishes that thinking of Qrow as a cheater would make him hate the elder; and yet, he cannot bring himself to look at Qrow Branwen as anything less than the beautiful, clumsy, funny, strong creature Clover’s heart beats faster for every single time.

So, he turns that hatred inwards.

He hates how his breath catches when Qrow walks into the room. He hates how his cheeks flush when he responds to Qrow’s deadpan, professional questions during briefings. He hates how he longs to take a seat in front of the elder again in the mess hall; then, he hates how he moves aside, taking a seat across from Marrow instead.

He hates how much he _misses_ the other. Even when they go on missions together, Qrow is silent, and Clover does not know how to breach that impenetrable defense. They’ve taken too many steps apart to be anything more than cordial.

And whenever Clover asks, “How are you?” and Qrow answers, “Fine,” Clover ensures that his eyes stay away from Qrow’s face, hands, neck. He does not want to know how he would react if he saw those long, callused fingertips playing with the cross hanging around his neck. He doesn’t want to know that their separation is hurting Qrow, too. Isn’t it Qrow’s fault for giving Clover hope, for initiating, for making Clover feel like Qrow might actually want to be with _him-_

Thinking of all the tiny signs- all the gifts and photographs and piercings- Clover should have known that someone like Qrow wouldn’t be available. He is too attractive, and Taiyang seems like the exact kind of naïve purity that Qrow needs.

There is one day when Ruby mentions it offhand. “Did something happen between you and Uncle Qrow?” she asks, hesitant and shy. Her eyes are wide, concern clear as day. “He seems down, and you two don’t talk as much.”

Clover stares at her blankly for a moment. As his attraction towards Qrow grew, it became simultaneously easier and harder to forget that Qrow plays the role of ‘uncle’ before he would ever step into the shoes of Clover’s ‘lover’. Now, however, the young woman’s innocent question slams him in the face with the warring thoughts that _brothers, I wish nothing had happened; I want to see him_ and _It’s not my fault. I did what was best for me, and best for your father. This is for you, too._

He likes Ruby and Yang. Their father doesn’t deserve to be hurt because Clover’s resolve was weak, or because Qrow’s bed grew too cold to bear in Atlas without Taiyang by his side.

The thought that he was just a replacement makes Clover feel sick.

Finally, he murmurs, “Look, nothing happened. Why, did he say something?”

“No, but…”

“Then that’s that.” And he runs, much to his own shame; he wishes he was strong enough to stay. He is not. No one else has ever captured his heart like Qrow has, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it being given back in such a mangled, crushed form.

It is Elm and Harriet who force him to talk about it, sitting him down in the Ace Ops’ office one afternoon. It begins as a conversation about an upcoming mission. Nothing seems out of the ordinary as they go over battle tactics until Harriet mentions, “You know, normally you’d be taking care of this with Qrow.”

Clover freezes, adopting a false mask of positivity. “What’s wrong with switching up tactics every once in a while?”

Elm sighs, shaking her head ruefully. “There’s a difference between ‘once in a while’ and ‘avoiding like the plague for two weeks’,” she teases, her full lips drawn in an amused, almost condescending smirk. “What, were you not good enough in bed for him-“

“Elm!” Clover barks, horrified. The woman doesn’t back down, laughing and shrugging as if she had said the most natural thing in the world.

Harriet folds her arms against her chest, rolling her eyes, clearly done with this conversation almost as much as Clover is. “You’re both adults,” the woman mutters. “Go deal with whatever this angst is, okay?”

Clover swallows, throat thick, mouth dry. What can he say? Finally, he replies lowly, “Look, he and I shouldn’t spend more time together. There’s a good reason- he’s got someone waiting for him at home, and so I don’t think it’s-“

“ _What?!_ ”

Before anyone can react, Ruby and Yang fling open the door. They are bug-eyed and flustered, gawping at Clover as if he has grown a second head. “Who the heck is _Qrow_ with?!” Yang protests, gesturing to Clover in unabashed horror. “Isn’t he with _you?!_ ”

 _Were you eavesdropping?_ he wants to ask, but Clover’s head spins as Ruby insists, “Yeah, there’s no one ‘at home’ that he’s with! He was single before we came to Atlas!”

His mouth opens, closes, opens again. Finally, he says, “But… he’s with your father, isn’t he-“

Immediately, the girls recoil, disgust and horror growing tangibly upon their faces. Ruby gags while Yang shudders, muttering, “Oh, gross gross _gross-_ no way!”

“Kill it with fire,” Ruby squeaks, clearly a little nauseous even at the thought.

“But… he wears a wedding ring from Tai-“ Clover says.

“He wears a _lot of rings!_ And he always switches them around on all his fingers. Even I’ve noticed that!” Ruby cries, repulsion clear.

“What’s wrong with Qrow keeping rings and stuff from Dad?” Yang adds, propping her hands on her hips. “They’re gifts. Qrow’s sentimental. Eew, that’s like saying Ruby and I are dating because we’ve promised to stick together.”

Ruby goes green at the thought. “Why would you even make that example, Sis?” Ruby moans, utterly repulsed.

Clover glances between Ruby and Yang, then Harriet and Elm. Harriet is already checked out of the situation, her headphones in her ears while she finishes her own report. Elm is cackling at the debacle, long having given up on trying to pretend like she isn’t listening in.

Weakly, Clover attempts, “But he’s so fond-“

“Of his _brother,_ ” Yang says firmly.

“-of all his jewelry.”

Ruby snorts. “He’s a _crow,”_ she says, throwing her hands apart as if presenting a great point. “Of _course_ he wears jewelry, he likes little shiny bits!”

Clover raises a brow. “Okay, someone’s namesake doesn’t mean they’re actually-“

“No,” Yang cuts him off. “He’s a literal crow.” She is too serious, and Clover does not understand her point. Yang eventually groans, “Just… go talk to him. C’mon Ruby, let’s go.” She grabs Ruby’s arm and drags the girl out of the room, the two sisters shuddering as they mumble, “-can’t believe he thought _Dad_ would date _Qrow,_ this is so _stupid-_ “

And within minutes, after Harriet and Elm clap him on the shoulder, snickering on their way out, Clover is left in a dark, empty office wondering just when the misunderstandings began and the truth ended; then, he wonders how he never asked Qrow to confirm the truth himself. After all, Qrow can’t lie- not to Clover. Clover wants to believe that he knows Qrow well enough for that. He wants to believe that Ruby and Yang aren’t lying.

He wants to believe that Qrow Branwen genuinely has feelings for Clover- that Clover wasn’t just a game to him. Then, maybe, the person Clover knows Qrow to be will take him back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the long, fluffy, silly ending to this nonsense.

He does not want to give in, but eventually, Clover cannot stand living in the realm of uncertainty anymore. It is too much, and Qrow’s back looks so small standing alone, the elder avoiding eye contact and walking away whenever he can. Clover hates it, but after what feels like an infinitesimal amount of attempts to approach Qrow and clear the air, he does not know how much else he can accomplish on his own.

So, he goes to the next best source: Ruby and Yang. “I’d like to apologize to him,” he confesses quietly as he works, eyes trained onto the holoscreen in the briefing room to avoid seeing their expressions.

To his surprise, Yang claps him firmly on the back, saying, “Will do!”

Ruby agrees just seconds later, and so, he relaxes a little, sending them soft smiles. Ruby smiles back, just as sweet. “You better be good to him, okay?” she says softly. “He needs someone who will _stay._ ”

Yang agrees. “He’s already said goodbye too many times,” she says, eyes misting over. The young woman’s face is but a shadow of the pain she imagines, and quickly Clover realizes what she means.

“He keeps everything people that gift to him because he doesn’t know when he’ll see them again, huh?”

Ruby smiles, thin, wan. She nods, but the two girls explain that they’re in his corner in this. His anxiety eases just a little, knowing that Ruby and Yang want him to break through his past mistakes with Qrow.

Unfortunately, no progress is made. He tries and tries and tries again to speak to Qrow, but the man’s face becomes an impenetrable wall when faced with the younger. Clover tries to speak, but Qrow is always gone before a sentence can come out.

One night, Clover wonders why Qrow is scared to speak to him. Then again, there is nothing tying them together, per se. _Maybe I should buy him some jewelry,_ he thinks wearily. _The girls mentioned he was… a crow? I guess he just really likes shiny things._

It brings a smile to Clover’s face, imagining the elder hoarding jewelry. It’s easier to laugh about that image than to realize that Qrow wouldn’t ever accept what Clover gave him- not with their relationship as stupidly fractured as it is.

And then, it happens.

Clover hears Ruby yelling, but he sees no one there. When he steps onto the roof after finishing up his paperwork, the young woman is glaring at the railing surrounding the rooftop. The area is otherwise empty- well, other than the small, dark shape perched upon the smooth metal bar.

Clover has to squint in order to make out the shape against the evening sky. It’s a bird, he realizes dimly. A small crow, red eyes flashing. In its beak, it carries a piece of metal covered in silver and green-

He glances down, realizing with a start that his own brooch is gone. _Wait, since when? It was there during our mission today. Why does that bird have my-_

Ruby huffs, “I’m not taking that to Clover, Uncle Qrow! You have to talk to him!” The bird squawks, but she barrels on. “You’ve been avoiding him like a little kid, and he’s _good for you,_ so stop it!” She stomps her foot, annoyed. “Do you know how much effort it took for me to steal it from him in the first place-“

Suddenly, the world seems to warp and shift. It has to, for in the blink of an eye, the bird is gone, replaced by long limbs and dark hair and pale skin, all weary, despondent grace in the nighttime. Held between his fingers is Clover’s brooch. “Ruby,” Qrow rasps, the perfect image of disappointment, “you can’t just steal people’s belongings. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His eyes darken bitterly. “Besides, Clover’s made it clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with-“

“ _Brothers,_ you’re an actual _bird,_ ” Clover breathes before he can stop himself.

It is strange, the lack of surprise in his heart as he takes in that fact. He is just baffled. For a moment, his brain explores fifteen possibilities at once. Was he born a crow? A human? Could he fly? _Is that why he really likes shiny things- oh gods, Yang was saying that-_

He realizes too late that he has said all of these thoughts aloud, and now, both Qrow and Ruby are looking at him, the former ashen and shocked, the latter’s face about to split with glowing eagerness. Ruby claps her hands together, glee oozing from every pore. “I’ll leave you to it!” she announces happily. Turning to Qrow, she adds, “And give it back to him, okay Qrow?”

All Qrow can do is pout while his niece practically skips off, leaving Qrow and Clover in a clumsy silence upon that empty rooftop.

Eventually, Qrow says, “Before you ask again, Oz gave me this power.” He says the words as if they are sour, the words spoiled and curdled in his mouth. “He needed spies, intel. Reconnaissance. No one notices birds.”

“…and the fact that it’s also your namesake-“

“He’s got a bad sense of humour about these things, okay?” Qrow interrupts. One hand dives into his pockets, balled into a fist; the other holds out Clover’s brooch, the green and silver shining in Qrow’s palm.

Obediently, Clover joins his side near the edge of the roof, taking the brooch from his hand. “Ruby stole it?” he murmurs. “I’m almost impressed. I didn’t even notice it.”

Qrow groans, absolutely exhausted. “She didn’t mean any harm,” he mumbles.

“I know.” After a moment, Clover adds, “She wanted you to give it to me, huh?”

“Shut it.”

Clover’s breath catches in his throat. Qrow does not look at him, but despite his harsh words, there is only a vague sense of flustered embarrassment coming from the elder.

Neither man knows what to say. There is a tension so palpable in the night air that Clover is hesitant to even shift his weight between the balls of his feet; Qrow’s eyes are too intense, focused on the horizon, lost in his own thoughts.

Clover’s eyes drop down to the elder’s chest. Qrow is playing absently with his necklace. “Missed me?” he asks.

“Stop.” His fingers continue to spin the necklace.

Clover smiles. _Okay. I’m not the only one._ Shifting his attention back to his brooch, Clover turns the metal accessory over and over between his fingers. It is cool to the touch, the grooves familiar and soothing against his fingertips. After a moment, he clips it back onto the lapel of his uniform, a sigh of relief slipping past his lips once it is snug and secure.

“Why do you wear that all the time?” Qrow suddenly asks.

Clover shrugs, warmth blossoming across his skin just at the sound of Qrow’s voice, finally aimed at him after what feels like weeks. “I bought it on a whim, and then it just… stayed. A good luck charm, I guess.”

Qrow snorts. “Isn’t that just _you_ being the ‘good luck charm’?”

“You’re the one who got a tongue piercing while drunk,” Clover quips back instantly.

Qrow smiles. “Yeah.”

Clover hums, unsure of what to say. He has spent the weeks trying to win back the elder’s attentions. It feels surreal to have him here. What is he supposed to say?

Eventually, he settles upon just… admitting it all. “Look,” he breathes. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I misunderstood everything, and I should’ve just asked you and clarified things right away.”

“…Why didn’t you?”

“You didn’t exactly stay to listen when I tried,” Clover points out. To his satisfaction, Qrow blushes, ears and cheeks tinged pink as he looks away. Clover presses onwards, “I just- you kept talking about the girls’ father, and you-“

“Wait,” Qrow backpedals instantaneously. “What the hell does _Tai_ have to do with anything?! You rejected me pretty clearly, Clover-“

“I thought you two were married.”

One moment turns into two of pure, unbroken silence. Then, unlike any reaction Clover could’ve possibly imagined from the elder, Qrow’s face twists into a disgusted snarl that is oddly familiar to Clover. “That’s _disgusting,_ ” Qrow groans, shuddering. “That’s like saying I’m dating my brother.”

Clover blinks at him once, twice; then, he doubles over and laughs, ignoring Qrow’s confused grimace. _Like uncle, like niece,_ he thinks wryly, raising his gaze to find confused red eyes and a small pout waiting for him. Still, he explains, “Look, do you have any idea how _happy_ you look when you talk about him? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you more at ease than when you bring him up. I should’ve clarified, true, but please understand where I’m coming from.”

After a moment, Qrow rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and leans forward on the railing around the rooftop. His expression is a mix of pure annoyance and elation, as if he simultaneously cannot believe that this entire situation was caused by something as inane as this. It shouldn’t have been caused by anything, really.

Clover regrets. He steps closer and whispers, “I should’ve trusted you.”

“You thought I was that shitty of a person that I’d do that?” The words are spat out.

Clover flinches. Qrow’s disbelief is understandable. “No. That’s… I didn’t blame you.” He smiles, feeling that familiar pain welling up in his chest. This whole situation is making him too vulnerable and he does not like it one bit, but for Qrow he will swallow his pride. “I just didn’t want to cause pain to someone you cared about.”

“But where does that leave you?”

Despite it all, Clover’s heart soars in his chest at those words. He hadn’t been misreading anything.

Qrow’s fingers wrap around the cool metal bar, and Clover’s eyes fall onto his rings; the obsidian one which had begun this whole mess is still there, plain as day, alongside all of the other thin bands upon pale skin.

However, there’s a new addition to his collection. It is thin silver, as innocuous as the earring Qrow’s nieces had given him. There’s something different about this ring, though; two things, to be precise.

One: it rests upon his ring finger. Qrow isn’t married.

Two: There is the faintest trace of green within the band; jade swirls throughout the metal, so thin and fleeting that Clover thinks it is a hallucination.

His throat thickens. Green isn’t Qrow’s colour. It _is_ Clover’s, though.

Finally, Clover leans backwards against the railing, propping up his elbows upon the bar next to Qrow, staring at his shoes. “Well. That’s new.”

Qrow pauses. Then, Clover glances down, seeing a large hand rest upon his forearm. Qrow’s ivory skin stands out against Clover’s rosy colouring. It’s unsettling how much the colours complement one another. The ring looks even more out of place.

“Yeah,” Qrow replies, hesitant. Then, his forefinger tracing corded muscle and a slightly-protruding vein with a callused touch. “I saw the set in the window the other day.”

Clover’s heart sinks. “Ah, buying one for Taiyang?”

Rather than replying, Qrow’s hand moves down Clover’s arm and grabs his hand. From his pocket, he retrieves something small- it shines, glinting silver and red in the moonlight. With ease, Qrow slips the ring onto Clover’s finger, and it’s an oddly perfect fit.

“…you’re sure?” Clover breathes, cursing himself silently for the quaver in his voice. He finally dares to bring his eyes up, looking at Qrow’s reaction.

There is such warm and wry, frustrated, doting affection in Qrow’s eyes that Clover’s knees turn to jelly, the man collapsing just a hair against the railing. Qrow mutters, “You’re not subtle, boy scout, you know that?”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Painfully so.”

“Since when?”

Qrow rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “You don’t wink at another man randomly that much if you’re not attracted to them. And, you certainly don’t flirt _back._ ”

Clover’s entire body seems to heat up. He glances down and immediately groans, seeing his chest flushed red from the embarrassment threatening to swallow him whole. “I guess you don’t hate it though, huh?” he coughs out awkwardly.

He can feel Qrow’s throaty laughter rumble through the air, vibrating the railing behind Clover. “As long as you don’t pull shit like this again, then… I guess I can like idiots who wear their hearts on their sleeves,” he concedes. “…or their biceps.”

Immediately, Clover cringes at the comment and sighs, but he is not upset by Qrow’s jokes. Instead, he takes a moment to just slide closer, leaning his forehead against the older man’s shoulder. He likes Qrow’s laugh, the sound low and hoarse and heartfelt.

The scene is almost perfect, but it doesn’t feel like _them._ They were always light, teasing, silly. They were always warm. Out of the blue, Clover murmurs, “So, a crow. You just like shiny garbage, huh-“

“I _will_ walk away.”

“But… why not fly?”

 _“Clover Ebi, I swear-_ “

While he enjoys Qrow’s snide commentary that continues to scold and gripe at and tease him, Clover’s touch runs over the ring upon his finger. He is content.

After all, his old crow takes good care of his trinkets. Clover will take care of his crow, too.

**_-fin-_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Here are some other RWBY series you can check out:
> 
>  _Other RWBY series:_  
>  If you want to see more of Qrow in canon, check out my [Qrow Branwen-Centric Fic series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448095)
> 
> Here are [both canon-compliant fics and complete AUs](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690948) for RWBY. 
> 
> If you want to stay completely within RWBY's canon, here is [another series of fics for you.](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815229)
> 
> If you're looking for a long series in canon and like Team JNPR, here's a series that's a [rewrite of Vol. 1-6 through Pyrrha and Nora's eyes!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448071)
> 
> Cheers for reading, y'all! See you in my other fics, and let me know what you thought of this fic!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think!


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